Page 1 of The Bodyguard

PROLOGUE

MITCH

Mitch Langdon had zero interest in politics. But this job wasn’t about politics. It was about survival.

He knew that the second he stepped into the steel-and-glass conference room at Cerberus’s Chicago HQ, and saw the dossier on the table with a bright red security clearance tag clipped to the cover. The folder had a name printed on it in bold block font:Andrea Donato.

“Who the hell is she?” Mitch asked, already knowing the answer would be a problem.

Royce Sanders, who acted as Cerberus’ chief administrative officer and one of the few men in the organization Mitch actually respected, didn’t waste time. “I forgot. You’ve been working out of London for the past year. Donato is a city councilwoman. Former community activist, and an independent candidate for mayor in the next election. Currently, she’s the target of a series of events we’re not willing to call benign or a coincidence.”

Mitch dropped into the nearest chair, arms folded across his chest. He’d just wrapped an extended protection detail for a South African diplomat whose family thought the solution to kidnapping threats was to put GPS chips in their kids’ shoes and pray. He was due a break. A long one. Preferably somewhere in the woods where phones didn’t work, and no one expected him to babysit anyone with a publicist.

He opened the file with a practiced flick of his fingers.

The first photo nearly stopped him cold. She was standing in front of a podium, hands raised mid-speech, fire in her expression and conviction in her posture. Shoulder-length dark hair, enormous eyes, a mouth that looked like it would cut before it kissed. Curves, sharp angles, intelligence written across every inch of her body.

“I don’t do politicians,” Mitch muttered, flipping the page.

Royce’s voice didn’t shift. “She’s not just a politician. She’s a symbol. Donato’s got a movement behind her. Many people want to see her succeed—and more than a few want to see her fail and then disappear, although we think some would be happy if she just vanished off the face of the earth.”

He scanned the next pages. Threat analysis. Timeline. A sequence of disturbing patterns. Surveillance images of suspicious vehicles tailing her motorcade. A break-in at her campaign headquarters with nothing stolen. Two anonymous letters, both vague and sinister, postmarked from within the city limits.

“Someone targeted her,” Mitch said flatly.

“Professional.”

That caught his attention.

“Intel suggests a high-dollar developer has money riding on her opponent. They don’t want Donato’s housing reform plan to pass, especially if she gets elected. She’s clean, she’s tenacious, and she’s not for sale. That makes her dangerous.”

Mitch set the file down.

“You promised me no politics.”

“I said no distractions,” Royce replied. “And this woman isn’t a distraction. She’s a job. You’ve handled high-profile clients before.”

“None of them were planning to spend the next four months giving speeches and shaking hands with targets on their back.”

“That’s why we need you.”

Mitch stood and paced to the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the skyline.

He hated this part. The middle. The moment before a job locked into place. Once the threat was active, once boots hit the ground and logistics fell into rhythm, it became simple. Tactical. Linear. But right now, it was still too political. Too messy in all the ways he didn’t like or trust.

“She’s stubborn,” Royce added after a pause. “She’s refused protection so far, but her chief of staff insists she needs our help. Donato thinks she’s untouchable.”

“She’s not.”

“No. And we think the opposition’s about to prove that.”

Mitch turned, jaw tight. “Full access?”

Royce nodded. “Anything you need. We will embed you at her residence. Full security retrofit approved. You write the playbook.”

“Will she go along?”

Royce smiled faintly. “Probably not, but you’re not here to be liked, Mitch.”

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